蜜芽传媒

One young boy鈥檚 World War II

A few recollections

I was born in January 1929, so that by the time World War II started I was ten years and eight months old. We lived right on the outskirts of Birmingham, actually in the county of Worcestershire, and my primary education was at Quinton Church School and then at Lapal Primary School, when that opened in 1937. Pupils going on to try for Grammar Schools were expected to take the Worcestershire 11-plus examination, but my father, having been educated at King Edward VI Five Ways Grammar School in Birmingham was keen that I should follow in his footsteps (My mother had also been educated at K.E.G.S. Bath Row and later, when that closed, at K.E.G.S. Handsworth, so there was no family argument!). In 1939 I therefore took - and passed - the exam for Five Ways, to the delight of my parents. This success had two immediate consequences. The first was that because of different regulations in various Local Education Authority areas, I was able to start Grammar School in 1939 in Birmingham, whereas I would not have started until 1940 had I gone to a school in Worcestershire. The second was that I was informed sharply by the Headmistress of my Primary School that there was no way in which my success would be recorded on the school鈥檚 Honours Board 鈥� and it never was. I found out later that she took this course of action because she herself only received credit for the number of pupils from the school who passed for Worcestershire schools, but it certainly did little to reward effort!

WWII started on Sunday 3 September and by the time my first day at my new school arrived, on Friday 1 September, the decision had already been taken that the school was one of those which was to be evacuated from the city. What neither pupils nor parents were allowed to know was the destination chosen for this evacuation - it was one of the war鈥檚 first secrets! I therefore arrived at my new school early on that Friday not only wearing my new uniform but also carrying a raincoat, my gas-mask and a small brown case containing pyjamas, a change of clothing and a small amount of food to sustain me for the day ahead (strangely, one of items suggested on a list provided was a tin of sweetened condensed milk, not an easily manageable 鈥榩icnic-type鈥� item). After my first assembly in the School Hall all the pupils went out into the playground, assembled in their respective classes and then formed a long crocodile, four abreast, which proceeded to march smartly down Broad Street and onwards to Snow Hill railway station. During the march we sang a number of well-known school songs, with a strong preponderance of Scottish airs, including 鈥楾he massacre of Mcpherson鈥�, 鈥榃i 鈥� a hundred pipers an all, an all鈥� and 鈥楽cots, wi鈥� hae ye Wallace bled?鈥�. In hindsight I wonder whether this was one of the very first efforts by the British authorities to confuse the German enemy, given that on our arrival at the station, we boarded a train which in due course was to take us, as it turned out, to 鈥︹�︹�︹��.Wales! Our new homes were to be in Monmouth.

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Monmouth was then, and still is, an attractive small town with two rivers, set in delightful countryside, with a predominantly warm and welcoming population. If we were surprised to find ourselves there, its inhabitants were no less so, not because they were not forewarned of our arrival, but rather because the authorities there had been given to understand that a GIRLS鈥� school from the Midlands was to be evacuated to the town - and that we certainly were not. There were two immediate results of this misunderstanding. The first was that a number of elder girls from the town鈥檚 Girls鈥� School who had been assembled on the station platform to greet their new visitors were whisked away rapidly to what was considered to be clearly a place of greater safety. The second was that the town鈥檚 billeting officers, who had gone round the town asking residents if they would like to take in a young girl, had to abandon all the careful plans which they had made and re-hash the whole thing in the space of a few hours, since not all those who had been willing to take in a girl were equally happy about taking in a boy鈥︹��.less good at housework?......more trouble? It has to be said that those involved did an excellent job, but this could not alter the fact that after the billeting officers had dealt with all those to whom accommodation had been pre-allocated, a considerable number of pupils from our school were left in Rolls Hall, the large building in the centre of the town to which we had all marched on our arrival in Monmouth. The way of resolving this problem can only be described as a sort of cattle market, except that in this market were children and not cattle and the whole thing was conducted with the greatest kindness. Those local residents who were prepared to take in a young lad came in, had a look round, picked one out and effectively said 鈥淚鈥檒l take him鈥�. The bigger boys went first鈥︹��.useful in the house, perhaps, especially if your man went off to war later on? There were still quite a lot of us left when what seemed to me to be an elderly lady (I suppose in reality she was about forty-five or so), well-built but short, wearing a brown coat and quite thick-lensed glasses, walked round, stood in front of me and said quietly 鈥淚鈥檒l take this one鈥�. That lady was Mrs Williams and that was probably my luckiest moment of the whole war.

The main street of Monmouth runs down from Agincourt Square to the famous Monnow Bridge, beyond which lies the part of the town known as Overmonnow. It was then a mixed area and my new 鈥榝oster parents鈥�, for want of a better word, lived towards the far end of Cinderhill Street (at number 69 to be precise) in a small and very basic terraced house. The terrace itself was demolished in the post-war reconstruction period, most of the residents being moved into new housing built in Goldwire Lane, off the original street, but most of the houses in the street remain today, many looking externally much as they did in 1939. Number 69 had a latch-operated front door opening into the house鈥檚 main room, heated by a large range used also for cooking. Off this room another latch door opened on to the stairs, beneath which was the pantry. Behind the room was the scullery, which ran the width of the house and from which a rear door opened on to a narrow but long garden, which had a hen-house and chicken run, with the rest being given over to vegetables. Also in the garden was a primitive privy, shared with the next-door house! There was no electricity in the house, but there was a single gas-light in the main room. In the scullery light came from a paraffin lamp attached to the wall and with a reflective
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metal ring behind it, as seen in old 鈥榳estern鈥� films. I cannot recall any gas light or cooker in the scullery (there was another range), but my memory is not absolutely clear on this point. Lighting elsewhere in the house 鈥� and in the privy! 鈥� was provided by means of candles.

Any shortcomings in the accommodation were however more than offset by the warmth and affection shown to me by Mrs. Williams and her husband Albert. Looking back, it seems to me that I was perhaps the son that they themselves never had. It is perhaps worth recording at this point that throughout the couple of years or so I spent with them I never heard anyone 鈥� including the couple themselves - address Mr. Williams as anything other than 鈥楢lbert鈥�, nor his wife by anything other than 鈥楳rs. Williams鈥�, except by people in the main part of the town, including the Mayor/grocer of Monmouth, who all referred to her as 鈥楳rs. Williams overmonnow鈥� to distinguish her from various others of the same name. Indeed, although I remained in touch with her for more than twenty years, I never did learn her first name and she never called me anything other than 鈥楤obby鈥�. In contrast to his wife, Albert was a tall heavily-built man, with remarkably large hands, who worked near Usk (mining or quarrying, I think?) He was one of the few people in the street to own a car, a small Austin seven of which he was very proud and in which, before the petrol shortage started, he took his wife and me on some lovely runs into other parts of the county and beyond. Later in life, he used the experience gained with his car to get a job as a mechanic with the Red & White bus company in Monmouth. I have many memories of him, but I suppose there are five main abiding ones. Firstly, listening to Prime Minister Chamberlain鈥檚 radio broadcast on 1st September on their 鈥榳et accumulator鈥� radio, at the end of which Albert鈥檚 deep voice just said 鈥淲ell, that鈥檚 it then, isn鈥檛 it鈥� followed by a long silence. Then I remember his immense strength, particularly when he was working on his car, never batting an eyelid at various tasks which would have tested many other men. Wondering why we quite often had deliciously鈥攃ooked rabbit as our main meal, then being shown why not all the rabbits who came into his garden to gorge on his vegetables escaped the little bits of wire to be found there! The enjoyment of popping into the local shop a few doors away most evenings to get him a small bag of mint imperials and a pack of five 鈥榃oodbine鈥� cigarettes (in an open-ended pack 鈥� oh, how unhygienic!). Lastly, the unbelievable excitement of being shown by this big man, with his ham-like hands, how to tickle trout - another welcome addition to the dining table. Always on the Monnow, never the Wye (鈥淭oo many people there, boy鈥�)

Mrs Williams had no set full-time job but was always busy. She was frequently called upon to attend the birth of a local baby or to lay out someone who had reached the other end of life鈥檚 scale. She helped out at one of the local GP鈥檚 surgeries and was a member of the Red Cross. She was also consulted on the matter of the sex of babies still to be born, an interesting process involving a new-laid egg and a needle suspended from a length of cotton. She had a wide range of friends and acquaintances in the town and on a couple of occasions I was allowed to accompany her to tea at the Mayor鈥檚 large house on the outskirts of the town. I lived right by the river, just across

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the road (by means of a footbridge) from the large town park, Chippenham, within walking distance of the school and being well fed and cared for, even if not ideally housed, by a couple of very loving people.

Schooling itself was pretty well organised right from the start, albeit initially not on a full-time basis, at least for the junior pupils. Monmouth school generously shared their facilities with us as did a small school in the town centre known as Major Reid鈥檚 and other classes took place in quite a variety of halls and other buildings, one of which was the basement of a Baptist (I think) Church in Glendower Street. The end of my first term arrived and many of us returned to our parents for the Christmas break. My only memory of that was going to see the great comedian Sid Field in the pantomime 鈥楢laddin鈥� at the Prince of Wales theatre in Broad Street in Birmingham, which was later to be demolished during the bombing raids on the city.

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